History repeating itself.
Cassandra was right though. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Tristan would find a way out of this.
And when he did, he would bathe Ethyrios in his brother’s blood.
* * *
Tristan didn’t knowhow he’d managed to fall asleep. Perhaps the weight of his crushing desire for vengeance had dragged him into a restorative slumber.
Though he felt anythingbutrestored when he was awakened by a strange prickle of energy.
Something electric that made his feathers stand on end.
He shot from the floor and surveyed the empty cell, then stepped towards the bars and angled his head to gaze down the dark, silent hallway.
He turned away from the warded iron, about to retake his slumped position against the back wall when a glow pierced the edges of his vision.
A seed of multi-colored light appeared before him, floating in the still air, then widened into a hazy circle.
A pair of blinding white wings with iridescent rainbow feathers pushed through, and Tristan fell to his knees, his fragile heart splitting in two.
She was even more devastating than she’d been as a human, lit with an inner glow that haloed her honeyed hair and shone from her indigo eyes. Her simple white trench coat didn’t seem to fit her new ethereal countenance.
Tristan croaked out a choked whisper. “How did you… What are you…”
“Hello again, Rebel Prince,” Ione said with a beatific smile. The faded red scar bisecting her palm whipped his pulse into a galloping frenzy as she reached for him, pulling him on shaky feet towards the rapidly fading portal.
“I am the Delphine.
“Welcome to the Teles Chrysos.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO
Aharsh, orange glow bloomed behind Cassandra’s swollen eyelids.
She cracked an eye open, assaulted by a slash of blindingly bright light. She snapped the eye shut and groaned as her head, her entire body, throbbed in endless waves of dull, nagging pain.
She managed to tuck her arms and push her broken body from the hard floor, and her torso swayed as she peeled back her lids.
Blinking at the jarring red light, she leaned against a slab of ebony stone topped with a thin mattress and twisted white blankets.
Had she been sleeping in this bed? And had she somehow fallen out of it?
She placed a hand against the flimsy mattress and pushed herself upright. She tried to stand, but her protesting head forced her back down onto the bed.
After several minutes, the relentless pounding subsided enough for her to survey her surroundings. Not that there were many of them.
The small cell was barely larger than a broom closet, an alcove carved from black stone threaded with veins of glowing red crystal. The only furniture in the room, other than the bed, was a thin ledge against one wall with a metal chair beneath.
Bracing a hand against the wall as her head swam, the rushing pound of blood through her ears triggered a flashback.
A crowd snarling, roaring at her.
Tristan’s wild eyes darting madly in his paralyzed face.
The wordTartarusfalling from the Emperor’s cold, cruel mouth.
